


A Tranquil Moment

by Ericine



Category: Scarecrow and Mrs. King
Genre: F/F, Femslash, Hurt/Comfort, Questioning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-15
Updated: 2015-12-15
Packaged: 2018-05-06 22:12:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,404
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5432666
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ericine/pseuds/Ericine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>One's all it takes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Tranquil Moment

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Dizzy28](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dizzy28/gifts).



> If you had told me I would be writing SMK femslash a month ago, I would have probably asked what this show was. But alas, I cannot stay away. Dedicated to Dizzy, who gave me the idea.
> 
> Very slight references to PTSD-types of situations.

It’s neither no trouble nor anything worth mentioning. That’s what she tells herself, anyway.

She doesn’t really have time, what with her full-service job and her children and her mother, but she makes the time for this, two hours every week (and the first hour’s lunch, so that doesn’t even count as anything extra) with Francine in a faux-Japanese tea house in Maryland (which isn’t that far from Arlington—it just happens to be where the best tea house for this kind of thing is located).

The setting is quaint and relaxing. Lots of pastels and pictures of fish swirling around in colorful water. They sit behind a screen and have to take off their shoes and sit on the floor (Francine wears pantyhose and paints her toes red—Amanda’s usually barefoot—she hasn’t painted her nails in _years_ —or wearing “I love Mom” socks). Most importantly, it’s a cross between the suburbs and uptown at a price that doesn’t break Amanda’s bank.

She’s paying today, but they alternate most of the time, which isn’t strange at all.

“Amanda?” Francine’s staring at her out of those big, heavy-lashed, blue-dusted eyes. It’s “Amanda” here and “Mrs. King” most of the time in the office (that’ll change at some point, won’t it?). Amanda unzips her purse and takes out the biscuits in a paper bag (she bought an English cookbook and learned how to make these ages ago, but she hasn’t used the recipe outside of the two-month stint Mother tried at a country club that didn’t quite work out) and chocolate.

Francine chases her sip of tea (she makes a very minimal effort to hide her grimace, because Amanda didn’t really know there was a difference between Japanese tea and English tea, and Francine clearly prefers the latter, but she doesn’t say anything here, which is interesting) with chocolate and sighs contentedly. “I think I like the hazelnut the best.”

“Don’t most people?” grins Amanda, taking a bite herself (a small one—she’s going to be sitting in the office for the next two days, mostly, trying to get all of the paperwork out of the way so that she’s completely free when the boys get home from their school trip to Philadelphia).

“I didn’t really know before now,” says Francine, a little bit defensively. Amanda surprises herself when she finds herself giggling. “What?”

“I don’t hear you doing that a lot.”

“Doing what?”

Amanda shrugs. “Admitting you don’t know things.”

Francine blinks. “I know a lot of things, Amanda. Chocolate is outside of my realm of expertise.”

“But you love chocolate.”

“And I get the same kind every time, which isn’t that often. Just because you love something doesn’t mean you know that much about it.”

Amanda’s not sure why, but that makes them both fall silent for a few moments.

Thankfully, Francine continues. “Besides, it’s not all that good for you.”

Amanda shakes her head as a she takes another sip of tea. “You’re beautiful, Francine.”

Francine shifts. “I don’t need you to tell me that.”

“You don’t mind when other people say it,” Amanda replies. “Besides, it’s the truth.”

“Well—thank you.” Francine’s struggling with herself to get the words out, and Amanda doesn’t know why. “You’re—um—I like the way you do your hair.”

Amanda reaches up for the ends of her hair unconsciously, surprised. “It’s the same way you do yours. Just a bit, um, _smaller_.” She laughs. “I’m sorry. You know what I mean.” 

“Not that,” says Francine. “That thing you used to do with—um—” She makes a motion by her head with both hands, the look of confusion on her face that shows up whenever she tries to delve into Amanda’s “other sphere.”

“When I put my hair up?” guesses Amanda. Francine shakes her head. “Oh, wait. You already do that sometimes—and it looks lovely, by the way." Francine rolls her eyes. "Um, when I clip it?”

“The thing with the cloth.”

Amanda laughs. “The bandanna? I never wear that to the office.”

“Of course not, it’s inappropriate,” says Francine. “But in the field—I liked it.”

“We worked in the field with my hair like that once.”

“Well, how was I supposed to remember that it was just one time?” To Amanda’s surprise, it’s Francine who laughs first. “This is a stupid topic. Let’s talk about something else.” 

Amanda’s digging in her purse, though. “I don’t wear it as often anymore, but I keep one in my purse. It just kind of holds everything in place, you know. Also kind of helps with the glow when you’re running—oh, don’t make that face. Some of us sweat.”

“You don’t have to wear it for me, you know.”

Amanda grins. “Oh, it’s not for me. It’s for you. Come on, I’ll teach you how to wear it.”

“When would I _ever_ wear that?”

“When you’re at home by yourself. Before bed. When you have breakfast. I don’t know,” says Amanda. “Whenever you want.”

Francine’s eyes dart to the bandanna in Amanda’s hands. “It might be a useful skill. If I had to go undercover or something.” Amanda raises an eyebrow and says nothing. “Okay, what do I do?”

Amanda stands and kneels behind Francine. “Okay, so first, you roll the bandanna, like this.” She swings the bandanna in a circle between her hands. “Are you watching?”

“I just—wouldn’t you twist it?”

Amanda shakes the bandanna free. “It’ll never stay that way. Here, put your hands on mine.” Francine obeys. Her hands are surprisingly warm, Amanda finds. “We’ll do it again. Swing with me.” Francine grasps Amanda’s hands and swings with very little enthusiasm. “But you’re going to want it tight so that it holds its shape and doesn’t come free.” 

“Like when you turn a towel into a whip,” says Francine. Amanda opens her mouth and Francine looks up at her, chin brushing Amanda’s shoulder. “Don’t ask.”

There’s a moment when they’re both staring at where Francine’s chin’s resting, and Amanda realizes suddenly that the last time they were this close, there was a very high chance of both of them suffocating to death. “Here,” she says, going for a comforting voice. She shakes her hands, and Francine turns back to them with renewed determination. “When you press it against your head, you want the points to be against your forehead so they’re not sticking out—it’ll stay better that day. And then you pick how many layers of your hair you want the ends to go under like this.” She pulls her hands up slowly to work the ends under Francine’s hair, and Francine’s hands follow. “Do you want to try tying it yourself? I don’t want to hurt you.” Francine nods. “Do you want me to hold up your hair? I usually tie up the top part before I tie it, and I don’t have a tie on me, so that would probably help if—”

“Shh,” says Francine, uncharacteristically quiet. Maybe she’s quite when she’s concentrating on something, thinks Amanda. She always works with Lee on missions. She’s barely had any time to see Francine in her element in the field, and now Amanda thinks that she’d really like to. Of course, by then, she’d have to be experienced enough to stop asking her questions all the time, but Amanda thinks that maybe this day is closer than not.

Francine ties the bandanna in a less-than-neat knot, but there’s hope for her. “Nice,” says Amanda. She lets her hair go over the knot. “How does it feel?”

Francine blinks. “Good.”

“You want to leave it on for the rest of lunch?”

“It’s almost time to go.” Amanda swears she almost sounds disappointed, and she finds that she’s disappointed too. She’s not sure when this changed from being a chore (it’s not that she _dislikes_ Francine—Francine’s just prickly). 

“Well, weren’t we supposed to meet this afternoon anyway?”

Francine smiles, amused. “You want to have the meeting here, off-site? Lee’s supposed to be at this meeting.” 

“Lee hates coming to meetings. We’ll be doing him a favor,” says Amanda, settling down beside Francine.

“You were using his voice, just now,” says Francine. Amanda shakes her head in confusion. “When you were trying to make me feel better about the day in the refrigerator—don’t be gracious, I’ve been at this a long time, and it’s still hard to shake things sometimes—when you were doing that, you were using that voice you use on Lee. The one you use to make him calm down when he’s off somewhere—you know. The one you use to bring him back.”

Amanda can’t meet her eyes, but they’re already sitting shoulder-to-shoulder, so she just looks down. “Sorry.”

“No, it was nice.” When Amanda looks over in surprise, she finds Francine also looking down, so she looks down as well. Some things are easier to say indirectly. “I kind of wish that I had a you—or that I had a Lee—um, you know what I mean.”

“You have me.” Francine snorts (but in a ladylike way). “I’m serious. Why do you think we meet up once a week?”

“Off-site. Where no one knows. _In a different state_.” 

“That’s hardly fair. They’re very close together.”

“I know that.”

Amanda sighs. Talking’s not her strong suit today. She decides to venture her eyes up to pull Francine’s hair out of the way. She means to do it so that she can lean on her shoulder, kind of like they were doing that day in the refrigerator, which can either turn out really good or really badly (she’s leaning toward the good, though—she can trust her instincts on things like this), when Francine’s head snaps up and their eyes lock.

The look she gives her is so _Lee_ that it makes Amanda’s chest ache. 

And then she makes the connection.

 _Oh_. 

Francine rolls her eyes. “You can just turn me down. I’m an adult, you know. I never thought you'd really, um, approve or anything."

“No, I just—“ _Need time to think_ , but that sounds like a rejection, and she doesn’t want to do that. Because Amanda and Lee are—whatever they are, something transitory—and she’s not—though it's not like she disapproves at all. Amanda swears by loving and caring for those around her, and the form that happens in is just—well, less important.

She is suddenly, starkly aware of how much she has missed the weight of Francine’s body on hers. 

Amanda’s never thought of herself as being with anyone who wasn’t a man (taller than her, good with kids, strong, with a decent job and who ideally gets along with Mother), but the alternative doesn’t sound nearly as terrible as it probably should (should it, though?). 

“It’s just sudden, is all,” she says. She’s good at letting people down, really good. She doesn’t know why this is so hard, but maybe it’s because she’s not exactly letting Francine down.

“ _Amanda_ ,” says Francine, irritated, and Amanda makes the executive decision to lay her head on Francine’s shoulder. Francine falls silent.

It’s a callback to familiarity. Everything’s much simpler when ultimatums are in play, and Amanda’s always hated it. People like Francine and Lee are pretty much only allowed to think in ultimatums, though, Amanda thinks, so she leans in further, wrapping her arm around Francine’s back.

Francine stiffens. “I’ve been trying to tell you for weeks—not because I was _afraid_ of you rejecting me or anything but because there’s just—this is—life’s too short.” She shivers, and Amanda wraps the other arm around her. “Now you just feel sorry for me. I _hate_ that.”

“Pity is not the same thing as caring, but they come from the same place,” Amanda says. “I’m not you, though. I can’t move as fast.”

Francine relaxes a little. “That’s probably good.”

“No, I wish I did. Sometimes I wish I was more like you. I think maybe things would be a little easier. Lots to get used to these days.”

Francine relaxes—completely this time—and drapes and arm across Amanda’s back. “That’s why it’s nice to have something that stands still.” Amanda laughs. “I didn’t necessarily mean you,” she says quickly. She sighs and lets her head drop on top of Amanda’s.

It’s a nice moment, comfortable. Francine’s taking deep breaths, and Amanda wonders if she also has to do more loudly what Amanda’s reminding herself of quietly—there’s time. There’s enough air here. There’s room to breathe.

Amanda takes a deep breath.

“Still now?” she asks. She’s not quite used to how warm Francine was. She’s not used to the fact that she has somehow managed to store away a preconception of how Francine _feels_. Francine hums in agreement.

Amanda’s careful when she shifts—there’s a science to this kind of thing ( _don’t point, don’t scare it_ ) that she’s clumsy with because she hasn’t had to use it in a long time, just enough to move her head out from under Francine’s but keep the other woman leaning on her.

She finds the comfort voice again—the Lee voice, Francine called it? “Stay still a little bit longer,” she says, moves her hand to the side of Francine’s jaw, and kisses her.

It doesn’t feel _wrong_ —quite the opposite. Amanda feels like she’s floating (this is much easier than she thought it would be, and that’s throwing her a little). Francine’s mouth is dry but warm, and there’s a hint of chocolate there.

Francine pulls away. “Amanda—” 

“Not pity,” says Amanda firmly. There’s just a little bit of hair they’ve missed in Francine’s bandanna, and Amanda tucks it in. “None from me ever, okay?” 

Francine nods. “We just can’t do this again.”

“I’m not saying no,” smiles Amanda. “I just—slow, remember? I just kind of—I just found this out.” 

“Sorry.” 

“Tell you what. I’m glad I did, though.”

Francine runs the back of her knuckles against Amanda’s cheek. “Okay.” It’s also a question, though, and Amanda nods so that Francine can kiss her again—just a little longer, just a little deeper. “We, um, can’t say anything?”

“Now who’s the one keeping this secret?” Francine purses her lips. “Little joke.”

“And it’s not like we’re, um—”

“Dating?” guesses Amanda. Francine nods. “No, not at all.”

“Same time next week, then.”

Amanda takes one of Francine’s hands in her own. “Of course.”


End file.
